She smelled like cupcakes. He had a few moments to study her figure in the dulled reflection of the brass elevator doors. Her smooth, bountiful calf funnelling into her thong sandals, running down from below her thin, floral sun dress. The dress itself dangling loosely from her round buttocks, then rounding a bit more tightly above her hips, up her belly to blossom around her breasts. She had some cheap jewel plunging downward into her ample cleavage from a long silver chain. The loose strings of sandy blonde hair that somehow escaped her ponytail. That brilliant red lipstick as she sucked soda from a straw -. The elevator stopped. What were her panties like? He hoped they were purple and velvet. Or satin. Or lace. Or anything. The images raced through his brain. He was beginning to get a hard-on. David quickly moved his gaze to the LED display, above her head. He knew it was 9th floor already without looking - he had seen her before on the elevator, but this time they were alone. Averting his eyes and thoughts were strictly a defensive maneuver against the pressure building against his fly. If she saw his face now, she'd know he had just imagined himself being one of those stray strands. The pores on her shoulder whoring out to the hair loosely petting her neck. He wanted to drop down her side and smother his nose in her quim. The doors opened. She looked down, smiled a little and mumbled "Have a good time", walking out. The doors closed. David was alone except for the intoxicating smell of cupcakes. His right hand was in his khaki pocket. If he moved his thumb slightly, he could trace the edge of his head where the foreskin had begun to pull back. Then it occurred to him, "Why would she say that?" A small bent from the standard "Have a good day" of elevator etiquette....

Here's one from a year or more ago. It's a first draft, so ignore the errors.

He couldn’t move. There might have been a question as to whether he could think. When Grant walked through the private gate moments ago, he never expected to see his gorgeous wife in the throes of an orgasm. Her raw, guttural cry brought images of her beneath him. But a mocking voice reminded him it had been far too long ago.

Staying close to the fence, he crept closer, watching her slender frame buck and thrash on the narrow chaise. The urge to take her had never been so strong. Staring at the junction between her thighs, he moved toward her once more. When he was almost there, she opened her eyes. Grant froze mid-step.

“I . . . this . . .”

She didn’t know what else to say. The look he had on his face was new to her. Grant was a skilled lover, but she needed him more than once or twice a month.

“No, don’t say anything.”

He found himself at her side without realizing he had moved. Sweat trickled down his back as he knelt on the rough cement.

“I didn’t see how selfish I’ve been until now. How long have you . . .?”

His reaction wasn’t what she had expected. Allie gave him a confused look as she tried to figure out what he was asking.

“I haven’t been satisfying you.”

“Grant, you do,” she said, uncomfortable with their conversation.

“When? How long has it been? Two weeks? Three? Hell, was it even this month? No, you don’t have to answer that. I can see it in your eyes.”

“You have a stressful career, a position that demands a great deal of your time. I know that and accept it.”

“So my job is more important than you?” Frustrated, he stood and began to pace.

She tugged her miniscule bathing suit back into place before standing. The rigid set of his jaw told her how upset he was. Three steps brought her to his side.

“Comparing the importance of your job to me—neither will come out the winner.”

“What should I do? Ignore the fact that my wife masturbates when I’m not home?”

“Damn you, there’s nothing wrong with it. You can’t tell me you’ve never given yourself relief when you were gone for weeks at a time on business. Lying there in some hotel room at the end of a long day, wanting to do what the couple on the TV was doing. Working off excess energy after a rough meeting? Frustrated because the contract you spent weeks on wasn’t approved?”

His shoulders sagged like an old mans by the time she stopped. Each sentence became an accusation even though that wasn’t her intent. But every single one told him how much she hurt. That he caused her pain was more than Grant could take.

A. Thank you, MistressLynn. At first I thought he'd walked upon her with another dude. And as he tried to explain himself, she couldn't care less. All manner of crazy potential where it could go! But then it was discovered she was masturbating - which is ALWAYS AWESOME.
Thank you, ML!
B. Was going to finish mine tonight but got a call to run sound at a bar. Two really good out of town bands, and a local. Good times, but wanted to come through on this thread. I'll finish tomorrow, promise.
I got inspired the other day on another thread here about men looking at tits. I do, but I try to be as discreet as possible. Getting caught is weird, but hot. The new scene is using an office window in the smoking area outside. Getting erotic, but not done. Tomorrow, I promise.
C. Please, other authors with throw-aways, post away.

Staring at the phone, I willed it to ring. The silence mocked me, torturing my already frazzled nerves. He was late after promising to be home on time. Max was punctual to a fault otherwise, and that’s what worried me.

“Don’t move.”

The raspy whisper so close to my ear turned my heart into a sledgehammer. Warm fingers covering my mouth trapped my scream and forced it back down my throat.

“Don’t be afraid.”

Instinct told me not to fight, to follow whatever commands the voice told me to do. Yet that made no sense. I should be kicking and clawing at this stranger who held me. Maybe it was because of what Max did, his other job, when he took off in the night and disappeared for weeks. Those secret missions that took him to places most people never imagined existed. We talked about some of it before, the men who stopped in, men giving names I knew were fake, talking to me one way, in riddles to Max.

“Put your feet on mine and lean into me.”

Lifting my left foot, I moved it back until I felt the solid shin belonging to the man behind me. It felt strange to step on him, but I eased my foot down and repeated the action with the right side. I guessed him to be at least a head taller than me from how I fit against him.

“Good girl. Now we’re going into the bedroom.”

I wanted to protest or question him, yet something still made me comply. It wasn’t Max, of that I was positive. And I didn’t recognize the voice as belonging to any of the men who had been over before. Was I wrong? Was this to be the end?

Here it is. I know I want her to start jilling away, but it seems implausible. And what is David (I always name my main male character that, just to keep moving; I'll figure out the real name when it's close to done) supposed to do? Jerki it in the bushes? Maybe, I don't know. Just another throw away. Going to make a goal to try this once a week.

Her lipstick coated the tip of the white filter. The cigarette stood erect, yet her slender fingers drooped from a lazy hand atop a tanned, skinny forearm, propped up by the iron patio chair. She held an open book in the other hand.
He didn't like talking to co-workers (or anyone, for that matter) when he smoked. Smokers were always the worst offenders of rumor and gossip in the workplace. His take was always, "if you don't really know what's going on, there's no real reason to discuss it, is there?" And the small-talk. The mind numbing small-talk of children, weather and weekend plans.
He had noticed she didn't speak to anyone either. Her glasses gave her a studious look, and she was always reading. She was always by herself, even when others were standing near.
He had his usual place staked out - a few feet from the edge of the concrete access, outside the manicured shrubs and bushes guarding the entrance to the building. She was on the other side, reading and now twirling her hair in the shade of the narrow patio next to the building.
He always tried to be careful. He had is sunglasses on, always trying to look lost in thought. If he were ever caught, he would blame it on distraction. He almost timed the way he would look in one direction, then at the ground, then elsewhere. Always smoking.
But be certain, he was looking her up and down - her gorgeous face, the glimpse of bra inside the cut if her dress, her hair, the cigarette-dangling fingers - he wanted to see all of her.
She shifted in her chair. She propped her leg up and rested her ankle on the seat. Without turning her eyes away from the book, she settled her hem back atop her knee. She was sitting with her back towards the entrance. If anyone were to come out to the patio she would appear covered. Or maybe she would drop her leg back. David, however, could see more.
She was facing the windows of the vacated glass corner office that jutted from the building on the other side of the paio. From where he was standing, he was looking over the shrubs and into the mirrored glass. The glass reflecting the enire length of her inner thigh.
Her slender fingers lightly brushed the skin on her leg, and then moved to snuff out her smoke.
Almost like a cue, David changed his glance elsewhere. She was leaving or she was going to light another.
He was looking down now, rocking back and forth a little on his heel. Something was slightly different. Apparently blood had started to move to his cock, and as his body swung back and forth slightly (all in keeping up with trying to "seem" lost in thought), he was growing down there. Not an erection, but the initial thickening. His cotton boxers scraped his head a little.
He moved again and used his periphery through his sunglasses to look at the glass.
She had neither left nor started another cigarette. Her hand was back on her thigh. Her fingernails scratched the inside lightly, up and down, slowly. What was she reading? Her hand went down again, lower and lower. He couldn't see through the azaleas, but her hand must have been near her crotch. It seemed like an eternity before she lifted it back up, this time, up her belly, scratching gently in one slow motion. Up her belly to her breasts; not touching them with her playful fingers, but some kind of adjustment of the underwire. She pulled at the bra's bottom, but her palm seemed to almost grope her. She did the same to the other cup for a little longer, and then started her way back down again. Doing so, her thumbnail plucked at her hardening nipples.

__________________
Not sure, but maybe, the GB is like reading de Sade's Philosophy in the Bedroom; awesome-crazy, depraved sex, interrupted by boring politics.

It required a flat surface, where there was stillness of motion save for her hands upon the slim reedy thing, where her breath could be made to be even, yet forceful when needed.

The notes of her song without words were a yarn of past problems, and when she made eye contact with the people who passed by in the park, they looked away. Her bowler hat lay upturned on the cracked concrete at her feet, holding precious few bills; perhaps enough for a cup of coffee and a McMenu offering that wasn't terribly filling.

Me, I sat crosslegged in front of her, looking up at her with those bemused-yet-admiring eyes of mine, not wearing the guise of rapt attention, but daring her to ask me what I wanted. She would have to stop her music for that, however, and to quit her refrain mid-song would be to break the spell she had so carefully woven around herself.

And so she played, and I sat in wait, a solitary finger waving back and forth in time to the imagined beat. The immovable object versus the inexorable force; music that would tug at a lesser soul versus a heart that could not be moved.

She bobbled the ending, and took a bow to the other listeners over my head, and then knelt to offer up a hissed question, offered past a brittle, plastic smile. "Enjoying the show?" Implied suggestion that I pay the piper for her efforts, instead of taking up her valuable real estate, 'center stage', so to speak.

I merely inclined my head. "Not really. There's no joy in it."

She colored, her fair skin flushing to half-match her freckled cheeks, and looked about before she leaned in closer still. "Look. A girl's got to eat, and if you hate it so much, I would appreciate it if you moved on. You're interrupting my rhythm, you punk."

I laced my fingers together under my chin. "I didn't say I hated it. I just said I wasn't seeing the joy in it enough to feel it vicariously through you."

"So you're one of those New Age weirdos. Information lives to be free, feng shui, bla di blah?" she said, studying me perhaps for the first time. Denim jacket, battered blue jeans with a hole wearing in the right knee, unadorned black tee shirt, no wedding ring on the left hand, and a pair of fairly new high-tops. Deep brown eyes to match the dark brown hair. And that faint grin, an encouragement rather than an amusement.

"Oh, no. Weird, yes. New, no. Age, well, you never ask that sort of thing unless you're wondering when I'm going to retire." I lift a shoulder in a shrug. "I honestly don't think you like what you do right now, no matter how much it doesn't pay. If you think this is the best way to make a buck, then more power to you." I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a crisp, folded twenty, dropping it in her hat. Made a show of stretching, standing, and raising myself to my not-so-impressive height.

She looked between the take in her bowler and me. "Are you a pimp?" she said. "Because I don't do that sort of thing. My life is worth more than that."

I shook my head. "Pimps have more anger in them than a dozen chimpanzees with a single banana between them. And you look for answers in me when you do not know the questions that you should be asking about your own life." I started walking, and she remained behind, anchored to the flat spot in the park by the promise of money.

"Weirdo." she growled.

I looked over my shoulder. "If being strange and enigmatic and a little more enlightened in a moment of inspection is weird, then I would be guilty as charged. But the reality is that I am simply who I am, and it is what I do with my time and my life that matters most. If the time I shared with you was unfulfilling, then I apologize for wasting your time. You do have some skill with the flute and I'm glad to have stopped to listen." And I started walking again.

__________________
"You asked me once if there were coyotes in the hills, my friend. And I'll simply tell you the same thing I said before; we're all around you, though you simply do not see. Some of us are even laughing at you."

It had been three months since he'd left for college. Three months since she had physically seen him, since she had felt his breath on her neck, his lips on hers, the shiver of his hands grazing, ever so gently, over her skin, the way his bare skin grew hot on hers, the friction, the passion. Three months. Nothing but video chats, phone conversations, and letters.
Sure, she was an able woman, she could masturbate, she could relieve herself to some extent, but there wasn't the love, the excitement. All that got her was a bit of relief. But what she longed for was something else.
And this is what she thought about as she lit the candles in his bedroom. He'd just gotten home for fall break. Gone and picked her up and brought her to his house, he was cleaning up from the trip home as she moved about the room. His parents had gone out, and wouldn't be back until late that night.
As he came into the room, he looked at her, crossed the room, and took her into his arms.

Richter's boat skipped across the waves as he headed toward Shillenn Isle. The sun was shining bright but a bitter northern wind accompanied it making the sea rough. The motor over reverberated whenever it left the water for a split second or two. He didn't care one bit. Even if the sea took his life today he would die a happy man.

He loved this job. It was by far the best he had ever had and it was unlikely he would ever lose it. He did not have to go through the rigmarole of clocking in or putting up with moody management who didn't care for his life of debauchery. All Richter had to do was drop a girl off at the wierdo's island once a month. He would be paid a ridiculous sum of money for dragging a whore off the streets once in a while and taking her to Shillenn Isle. He would have his fun on the way free of charge of course. Not that a whore so fucked up on rohypnol would realise what he had done until she came around in the 'cleansing house' very sore. If she did wake she would not be coherent enough to be able to demand payment or even beg for her life. He had killed two of them accidentally, he considered that a pretty good record out of forty one.

The Shillenn Isle folk insisted the girls, or witches as they preferred them to be called, be drugged before they reached them to ensure the totally naïve Sister Gin would remain brain washed and oblivious to the reality of what went on there.

Gin was twenty two and was lead to believe that she was the chosen one. Gin actually looked forward to her death in three years time when she would be taken to Elysium and her Lord Payta O' Payta A fabricated deity to keep her mind far from anything other than prayer, innocence and purity.

At Shillenn Isle Richter was, in Gin's eyes, a Payta. A father who was to be looked upon with reverence and undying respect. She believed he had powers of the mind to help him find the Witches that had disobeyed her beloved Lord. Those who were to be externally cleansed by her hands and internally by Paytas Cardinal and Bishop. The highest ranked mortals on earth.

The 'Witch' Richter had with him now lay on the deck of his boat. She was out cold and unlikely to wake for a good two hours. The drug he had administered would keep her delirious for at least a few more leaving him plenty of time to drop her off at Shillenn Isle before she stirred. He would have to put her underwear back on but before he did he would enter her again. He didn't care that she would not feel a thing. The important thing was he could, and would, soil her in any way he pleased.

Sister Gin was the reason he ravaged the 'Witches' before they reached her delicate hands. Firstly he would fantasize they were the twenty two year old virgin and secondly his semen would be what she would be cleaning from them. She was the purest of the pure and knew absolutely nothing in regards to sexual pleasures. How he would love to be the one to take her. The long list of lies he would tell to make her do such filthy, filthy things were all ready and waiting for the day he found her alone at the dock. That would be the day he took her back with him.

Richter held his stiffening penis over his jeans and looked at the young whore lay in his small boat with her tee shirt and bra pulled up above her breasts with her legs wide open. Her short denim skirt pushed up to her waist exposing everything about a woman Richter enjoyed. He looked to the horizon and saw the small island seemingly rising from the sea. Two minutes away. Two minutes before he could fantasise that the young woman unconscious in his boat was Sister Gin. Tall, slender and unbelievably beautiful. She truly was angelic and Richter could almost believe the rubbish the two senior sadistic hedonists had fed her on since she was born. Poor, pure innocent Gin truly believed she was the immaculate conception, the purest of the pure.

Richter's penis was hard now. He rubbed it over his jeans feeling his excitement forming a damp, sticky blotch in the underwear he'd been wearing for two or three, maybe four, days he could not remember. His gaze veered from the approaching beach to the hooker's near naked body. Her breasts jiggling at every skip the boat made across the water. Her shaven pubis still swollen from the attention he had already reigned down upon it. He couldn't care less if the cold took her life with hypothermia. If that happened he'd simply throw her over board for the fishes as he had with the previous two.

When he reached the beach he discovered that she was still very, very warm where it mattered to him.

=-=-=

I am a newb on Lit, and evidently an amateur writer. I'm well aware I will need the help of an Editor when I submit stories so all apologies if this 'scene' is not up to scratch... I just wanted to play.

Crowded party
I’m the one in the back, looking bored
Walk past me on the way to the bar
My eyes follow for a time
I look away before you catch me
Don’t notice my blushing
Let me just blend in
I’m too shy to make a move

Suddenly you’re there
Standing in front of me, smiling
With the right amount of confidence
I manage to smile back
Hoping I’m not looking too nervous
Your hand feels so soft as you extend it
I love the way your lips move
As you tell me your name

The jailer moved Spinks to a cell in the southwest corner of the building, and the boy sat so that the few rays of the sun passing through the bars shone down on him. The last sunshine he would experience for eternity.

The preachers and an assistant sat outside and in front of him. Spinks sat on his heels, back pressed against the wall, arms resting on his legs, alone inside the cell. These austere walls and iron bars have, on many occasions, reverberated with the screams of the mad, the ribald songs of the hardened criminal, and the anguished sobs and wailing of the repentant murderer, as he arouses up from sleep to a cold sweat and a very real nightmare.

Shortly before 11 o’clock Jailer Alvarez came up to the cell and gave Spinks a cigarette, which the boy accepted thankfully and smoked as his last material solace. A little later Mr. Alvarez brought Spinks a suit of new clothes and a hat; the preachers helped him dress. Soon thereafter the ominous clanking of the heavy locks sounded below, and the sheriff entered, accompanied by Deputies. Time was up.

Spinks was handcuffed without defiance, opposition, or resistance, and the solemn procession went out of the jail, led by the preachers, down the stairs and up the steps of the scaffold.

Spinks looked around at the huge crowd; the crowd looked back at him. The trap doors of the scaffold were open and the boy looked through the opening. To allow a drop of the eight and a half feet, a pit was dug beneath the gallows, and looking down was virtually the same as looking into your own grave. The boy didn’t flinch. There were more prayers and songs, and Deputy Sheriff Cameron read the death warrant.

Spinks stood quietly by while the trap doors were closed and the trigger carefully adjusted. Sheriff White distributed the binding straps to his deputies, to make escape impossible after the drop, which they fastened on Spinks after first removing the handcuffs. As Mr. Alvarez was tying the straps to the prisoner’s wrists, the boy said, “They are tight enough.” Alvarez then guided Spinks forward till he stood on the trap where more straps were added, this time around the ankles.

After the noose was dropped over Spinks’ head, the next to last task on the program was to cover the boy’s head with a black hood. The hood was small and did not fit properly, and there was some trouble getting it under the noose. When the hood was down as far as possible, the knot of the noose was moved below Spinks’ left ear. Almost everyone on the scaffold then pressed the boy’s manacled hands in farewell, saying, “Good-bye, Abner.”

At the appointed time, White seized the lethal lever, gave it a quick pull, and Spinks’ body fell through the trap. When the rope tightened, his 180 pounds shook the scaffold till it swayed. This was at 11:47 a.m. The fall broke Spinks’ neck and the body never moved again after the gallows ceased moving. The audience gasped.

The world was covered with snow. By four o’clock the thermometer hovered at zero. The wind had moderated to a frigid breeze, and my breath floated from my mouth across the porch into the yard in large languid clouds. Christ! It was cold. I smoked my pipe and went inside to warm by the fire. I pulled a comfortable chair close to the hearth and fell asleep.

In my Snowed In at the Library Natasha is the nerd and Xavier the student is a very confident studly guy.

It's clear that they are trapped as they listen to the battery powered radio reporting on road closures. The library is on a hill overlooking the town - and they can see the huge blanket of snow taking the town to a standstill.

The guy : Xavier is very hot - from a different town - tall, a little older and insanely confident. He eyes up Natasha and her frumpy hair and clothes as they hear the reports....thinking..."I've fucked a lot uglier chicks than her"

Natasha is thinking about sex too - of course, reminded by the snow of the many bodice-ripping novels she has read in between tackling more serious materials. She wishes Xavier wasn't so darned hot so she might have the nerve to talk with him. He strides up confidently and they look out the window at the graders failing to move the huge snow in town. The road up to the library is becoming so impassable, you wouldn't even know there is a road there.

" Gonna be quite a while" he says confidently putting his hand over hers. Her eyes open wide - what is he doing? He walks behind her and whispers in her ear past her messy hair. " You like it slow and easy ? " he says touching her tushie with his pelvis behind her. " Or you like it deep and rough? " he sneered tugging her by her hips back towards him.

" what the?... " Natasha stammers off balance flushed and shocked and hornee and stunned by how brash this man is. She steps away tripping a little and turns back to see him leaning back on her desk - his big half-hard cock in his hand as he smirks at her. " I know you want it girl ... this is gonna' be your lucky day ".

Natasha's mind races and is a total mess - part of her wants to scream rape ( not that that would help ) and part of her wants to submit fully and begin an oral adoration of this gorgeous Adonis who she has alone in a snowstorm.

" I get no complaints from the ladies so far honey " He smirks jacking himself slowly getting harder and smirking at her. " you'll get into it...I promise "

In her confusion Natasha imagines running away from him - out into the blizzard - only to be caught and dragged back inside and pinned to the ground by him before taking his raping thrusts. She imagines trying to out run him inside the library - make it to the bathroom and lock herself in. After going through so many absurd scenarios - her eyes fixated on his cock - she just takes to her knees in front of him slowly - as if there is no point of doing anything else. in truth she is in heaven - now she even has an excuse so she doesn't have to feel at all like a slut for having sex with this stranger.

As she blows him on her knees she can see her own reflection in the big window, her hair let down now and her glasses off. She looks pretty.

When she looks at a different part of the window her reflection disappears and she can see her house - her old school - the whole little town. She looks out the window as he does her doggy style over the edge of her own neat desk. She makes sound s like a cat in heat - and he just chuckles so cockily as he fucks her like a stallion. Again she sees her own reflection and sees the cocky smile of this stranger rocking her body with his thrusts. The blinking grader is just halfway up Elm street she sees - it's going to take hours and hours before they get up here. Her ass taking a slap as his heavenly thrusts get harder. " ooohhh fuck meee ..." she whines looking over her shoulder at him.

It stings. Strong hands are grasping my hair and throat. Not hard enough to do much damage, but enough to let me know who is in control. He’s driving into me from behind, and you’d think he was part jackhammer with the power behind each thrust. My eyes roll back, and I moan from the waves of pleasure spreading from my core down to my toes. They curl. We haven’t been this rough before, and while it’s exciting, complicated thought escapes me. Suddenly, he’s no longer there and I whimper and whine at the loss of fullness inside of me. An unexpected slap on my ass draws a yelp out from my lips, and he does it again on the other cheek. The room tilts and spins. Flipping me over so I can see his hungry gaze, his thumb grazes over my swollen clit. It’s as if I've never known the true meaning of desire until now. Then, lifting my legs up to his shoulders he plunges into me, and I’m tighter in the new position. He knows I love it like this. As soon as he leans down to kiss me, my animalistic sounds silence so that my tongue can dance with his. Our movements are feverish, and we clutch each other as if for dear life. I can feel him at the precipice, so I nip his exposed neck and swivel my hips to drive him over the edge. I can feel the powerful jets of his cum emptying inside of me, and then our muscles relax, spent. We exchange a few playful nibbles and kisses before rolling of the bed to clean each other off in a steamy shower.

I have no use for this, as I didn't intend to write anything in the first place. I actually write poetry, not stories, so if it's horrible I'd like to blame my inexperience. Obviously this is from the female perspective, as I haven't got a clue as to how to write from the male's. Oh, and I used spellcheck, so I'm sorry if there are any technical errors that I missed.

__________________
My brain: http://painful-rapture.deviantart.com/
Cybering: Thank you, but no.
The more I learn, the less I know.you'll find it in that gradual crescendo, in low, slow songs
the ones that remind you of her, you'll find it there
at dusk when the colors soften, before you get lost in the dark

Down the hall, David was restless, troubled. Sleep would not descend to comfort him. Unknown noises from down the hall had intruded his dreams several times, keeping him in a semi-conscious state at best. Now he heard a clear loud voice cry out once in the night, then muffled whisperings. He rose from the bed, clad only in his briefs, and went in search of the bathroom in the dim light of the waning moon. Halfway down the hall he heard voices. Curiously he approached their source. The door to Howard's bedroom lay half open. The blueish glow from the large aquarium suddenly ceased. David jumped in alarm, then realized the tank must have been on a timer. He moved a foot to is left to see the aquarium. The dull glow of moonlight reflected off the glass still lake, imbued the aquarium glass with a mirror like finish in which he could clearly see the figures of his two new friends. Both men were kneeling, Howard behind Jeff. Though he could not see the larger man's penis, he knew beyond doubt what was occurring. He was revolted nearly to the point of sickness. He wanted to leave, but could not. He stood transfixed, captured by the lurid scene before him.

The sound carried emotions sight did not. David was instantly, impossibly hard, his small prick stretching the front of his briefs. He placed the heel of his hand against his aching member pressing down hard in that foolish gesture all men perform to alleviate an erection, only to worsen the situation by touching themselves.

“That's it baby, take it all in. Yeah “Jeff, nice and easy, David heard Howard say.”

David pushed down on the elastic of his shorts, hooking it under his balls, freeing his cock from the tight confines of his shorts. His thin, pink, unwrinkled cock stood tall and proud against his belly, extending nearly to his navel.

He began to turn, head to the bathroom then back to bed, turned instead toward the couple on the bed. As if hypnotized, he inched closer to the sounds, passed the gurgling aquarium. Holding his breath, quivering as if chilled, he turned toward the bed. Three feet away, Jeff's face was buried in a pillow. Behind Jeff, Howard held the younger man's hips as he thrust his own forward. David did not want to see more, wanted to flee. He took two steps closer to the head of the bed, then two more.

Straight ahead, the glistening towers of the Chicago skyline lay reflected in the lake; ribbons of red and glaring white snaked along Lake Shore Drive and Michigan Avenue.

Animal grunting noises beside him caused him to turn his head. And now he could clearly see what he had so far avoided: Howard's impressive sized manhood drilling in and out of Jeff's tiny asshole, stretched now beyond its limits. Strangest of all, Jeff was whimpering sounds of encouragement, begging Howard to pierce him deeper, harder.

David looked like a fawn caught in the headlights of an onrushing auto. His eyes went to Howard's face, flicked to the center of the action, where the huge prick was steadily doing its work, slid to see Jeff's face filled with passion and desire. Once more his eyes made the circuit. He felt himself in the grip of an icy fear, his knees shaking, yet unable to move. A wave of carnal need washed over him. His blood pounded in his ear, pulsed in his aching cock. Compelled beyond all understanding, driven on rather than repelled by his terror, he reached to touch Jeff's lower back, sliding his hand tentatively to his shoulders, then back to his ass, feeling Jeff's body lurch rhythmically forward and back from the cock pounding him.

Howard reached to grasp David's wrist. David resisted, tried to pull away, but the older man's grip was vise-like. “Relax David, no one is going to hurt you. Do you hate what you see? Is it horrible? Look down at yourself. Why are you so excited? Time to ask yourself David, What do you really want?

Alex was in a twilight sleep, his eyes still closed as he felt something rubbing up against him. He opened his eyes to find himself lying on in his side facing Liz who had his back to him, he was still somewhat asleep as he felt her ass rub back against his crotch which made his eyes open wide, as he gained more awareness he felt her arm hold his which was wrapped over her, his hand felt soft flesh. He slowly sat up as he saw both of her tits had popped out of her top and his arm and hand was sandwiched between them. Alex looked over his shoulder. Nicky was passed out looking the other way.

He squeezed her tit softly squeezing it as best he could with one hand. He let his hand run down over her breast as he softly traced his finger around her nipple, fuck she had beautiful breast he thought. She murmured something as she moved a bit, Alex froze. “Shit don’t wake up.” He said under his breath. After she had stopped moving he slowly pulled his arm out from under hers and rolled onto his back. Glad he hadn’t got caught, he closed his eyes trying to get back to sleep when Liz rolled back toward him. She put her arm around his stomach most likely thinking she was trying to cuddle with her husband. She snugged closer as her left tit lay on his chest while her right pressed against his upper arm her thigh brushing his fingers. You got to be fucking kidding me he grinned.

He lay there for a few seconds thinking how bad this probably looked not sure if he should wait for to roll back over, try and push her off or wake her if he even could as drunk as she had been. Then he felt his sister stirring, she rolled over onto her side as she put a hand across his stomach. She wiggled closer and wrapped her arm around his stomach apparently wanting to snuggle also as he felt her tits rub against his right arm. He felt her leg slide over his. The soft feel of her pubic hair began to tickle his thigh. Her thigh rubbed up against his crotch brushing his erection.

Chena Hot Springs steamed in the boreal wastelands between Fairbanks and the Arctic Circle. The Alaska resort brochure's Japanese translation was amusing. Enjoy the forest -- woody woody life, indeed! But this was where folk tales said the next emperor of the Land of the Rising Sun would be conceived, under the shimmering Northern Lights.

We lay in the outdoor pool and tried to ignore the giant eerie silhouettes of moose crossing the full moon like furry full-masted schooners driven by a kamikaze wind. We tried to ignore the cries of "Hai! Hai! Hai!" emerging from various directions in the undergrowth. We tried not to notice the bloody-faced wolverine sauntering past our pool, a torn carcass in its mouth.

here is a throwaway scene i can find no use for so it sits lonely on my laptop with no story, forgive the punctuation and all that as it really is a throwaway that i have no use for lol

i lay there on the bed, headphones blasting sounds into my ears, not even cradle of filth was helping tonight not even the strained voice of daniel could drown out her last words. i could not get her out of my head.

the thought of her with someone else was killing me, knowing her hands would be on someone elses skin, her stupid mouth would be passing its judgement on someone else.

how could i have been with someone so long that i truly hated, and yet somehow i loved as well. the torture was burying deep into my mind, i could no longer seperate the reality of being with that bitch with the fantasy world i had created for myself to be able to live like that.

those mind maggots she liked to embed were biting and wriggling, telling me i was not good enough, telling me she was the only one who could cope with me. telling me to swallow my pride and go back to her.

i felt desperate as i looked over at the bottle of vodka sat on the night stand, maybe one drink would help, would loosen me up. what could i do, she had put it plainly either i submitted fully and recognized that no one was going to want a morose weak goth bitch like me other than her, and go crawling back on my hands and knees, wearing my ego like a the tatters of a shroud around me, frayed and falling apart, or i decided she was wrong, and walked away.

this time i could stand on my own two feet and i would show her that i did not need her, or her lies and taunts, the many many times she had cheated on me, this time i would walk away.

the vodka taunted me, just one drink, maybe this time it would be just one drink. dutch courage they called it.

no not this time, i would not hide my sanity in a bottle so i could cope, i needed to face this alone, and this time i would win, i would walk away, there must be someone out there who could see that i am goth because it speaks to my soul not just for some fad, jeesh how long had she known me, had i ever been anything but goth, did she think her constant taunting and backbiting would change me, change who i am, suddenly stop me listening to cradle of filth and start listening to alison fucking morisette.

goth is so much more than a fashion to me or a type of music, it is a statement of who i am, i embrace the dark and live in the shadows, i love my lifestyle and the only thing ruining it all again was her and her moronic fucking whining, that was it this time i had really had enough i was bolting the door and walking away.

to be honest was this not what i live for, the pain and the suffering, did i not embrace this, i yearn for the darkness, i yearn for the depths, my poetry and art is always so much more profound when i suffer, and more saleable.

i reached over to the nightstand and pushed away the bottle, my hand brushing against the book i always kept there, the vampire lestat, my beloved lestat, the keeper of my sanity and the provider of my thoughts.

i picked up the book and flipped its worn pages and started reading, gradually peace entered my troubled mind as i read, my brat prince, the keeper of my soul was once again providing me with the sanity and fantasy i required to live, i had no need for another while he was always there merely moments away tucked forever safely between the sheets of this one book, yes i had read the whole series but always this was my lestat.

life is a savage garden but there is beauty in savagery if only i could find the key to unlock the brat princess in me, this time i would be strong and enjoy my suffering, this time i would embrace my pain and find inside me the one who had always called to be let out, the demon with the suffering soul.

Here's a sex scene I pulled out of the first draft of a story, to move the story along. I think the final version had a scene that only took place just a little later in the story, so I might as well just as well have left this in.

When they heard the gasp Amy realized that the crinkly sound they had heard just before the gasp was ice in a baggy, and she realized what Craig was doing about getting his “thing” under control. She whispered to Maude what she thought was happening and they both giggled.

When Craig came back into the living room with the hot chocolate he was amazed at the position the two ladies were in, but didn't show anything as he served them.

Amy told Craig to put both her and Maude's cup on the end table behind Maude, then Craig went and sat in the big recliner that Maude had vacated. They chatted for a while, then Amy reached behind Maude and took a cup.

“Maude, would you like a sip?”

“Mmmm, yes please.” came the relaxed reply.

Amy held the mug to Maude's lips and tilted it just enough for Maude to take a sip.

Amy leaned into Maude, and slowly proceeded to kiss and lick Maude's lips until it was all gone.

Maude was surprised and stiffened at the first contact, but then sighed and relaxed as her new friend's soft lips nibbled and licked her, cleaning her of the chocolate.

Amy took a deeper drink, and soon had a larger chocolate smear on her upper lip.

“Here, let me return the favor,” Maude murmured and leaned in to clean off Amy's lip.

They continued back and forth, until the mug was nearly empty, Amy then reached behind Maude and replaced the mug on the end table, but didn't get the other mug.

She leaned in to Maude again, and softly kissed her on the lips, the kiss lasted for a long time, as they would take turns nibbling on each other, sucking lips and tongues into their mouths.

Craig was riveted to his chair, his eyes fixed on the two women as they continued what had become a full blown make-out session. He didn't dare move, thinking that if he made a noise they would stop and he wouldn't get to watch any more.

Both sets of nipples were in full point, occasionally their breasts would rub against each other, sometimes the nipples would rub each other, both ladies were getting rapidly too turned on to remember that Amy's son was in the room with them.

Amy pulled back for a second, her mind was whirling, she had started the game on impulse, Maude reminded her of a roommate she had in college, they had stayed together for four years, then in the last two weeks of their senior years had started to experiment with each other one night when neither had a date with a boy. It had been fun, and a good break from preparing for final exams, but was never mentioned again by either of them.

Amy had always wondered what would have happened if they had continued on. In some ways she missed the gentle kisses and caresses, but she loved men too, and Craig's father had been a good lover when they were first married, and his strong arms and forceful lovemaking were fully satisfying. But every once-in-a-while she would think back to that one night.

Amy pulled Maude to her breast, and with her head resting on top of Maude's she tried to signal Craig with her eyes and slight head movements to leave the room. Not really sure what was going to happen, she thought it best if Craig wasn't there to watch.

Craig caught the signal, and nodded. He thought to himself “Mom's getting some tonight! I just wish I could watch, or help!”

Here's one I started but don't have the time to play with right now. I may do something with it later.

My arms were stretched but not uncomfortably so. I stared at the knot in my left hand, followed the line of rope to the bedpost that seemed ridiculously far away. I'd attempted to lift my body enough to look behind me but the way I was stretched and bent over the edge of the bed wouldn't allow it.

I hate tall beds, and this huge one was making me feel extra small. Especially now when my dangling legs had been spread, ankles pulled apart and tied to the posts at the foot of the bed. Spread eagle and bent over this way I couldn't get the purchase of even a slightly bent knee to lift my torso. There would be no squirming in this position.

When I'd arrived at the hotel and given my name at the front desk the woman had given me a sly smile as she said, “Here's your key, enjoy your stay”. I'd smiled back and shook my head. Was it even possible for the man not to flirt?

“Oh, miss, wait a moment. I almost forgot the note.”

She handed me a folded note, I opened and read it then laughed out loud. 'Don't ride the elevator alone. Remove your panties in the elevator on the way up.' So, that's how he wanted to play the game was it. Well, it would take more than that to embarrass me. If he hoped to have the upper hand so soon, he was going to be disappointed.

I turned back to the front desk, took a look at the woman's name tag. “Annabelle, I'm going to have a seat right over there. Can you do me a favor? When the next gentleman that's going to be riding past my floor checks in, give me a nod.”

She gave me a little laugh and said “Will do.” She also placed a call while looking at me. So, he had charmed her. Good, now he'd know I was here, making him wait.

It was more than a half hour before I got the nod from Annabelle. I stood and followed the gent to the elevators, got in behind him saw him press 10 and look over at me. 'Eight please' He pressed 8 and turned to smile at me. 'Pardon me for involving you, but...' I handed him the note. He read it and smiled at me.

“Who am I to get in the way of fun? Please, proceed.” He turned his head forward but I could tell he was looking out of the corner of his eye.

I'm not normally much of an exhibitionist but I thought, what the hell. I dropped my bag, flipped up the back of the dress and slowly pulled the panties down to my knees before lifting one and then the other foot out of them. I knew the mirrored back wall of the elevator gave him quite the view but I tried to keep the smile off my face. When I stood up, panties in hand I caught him turning his head away and had to contain a laugh. The elevator doors opened, as I started to step out, he held the note out to me with a smile. “Keep it, a souvenir with a story to tell.” I said as I walked away swinging the panties on my finger singing 'Smack That' as I went.

Cleaning out my pm's I found someting I had written. I write scenes for specific people. This one I never sent and since I never will, I will post it instead.

She loved him, she liked him, she wanted him...at least she thought she did. Her endless chatter, updates on an old guy, delight over a new guy, a stream of nonsense he endured. His responses were always polite, sometimes harsh but never cruel. She thought they were writing a story together, the story of us, but it was just a story of one. She declared her love, he nodded, neither accepting nor rejecting, but she knew this was him. He let her be anyone, everyone, no one and she found freedom in that. She found love in that. She found pain in that. The day it ended, did it have to be? Could she have changed for him? Loved him more? Loved him less? He told her she was a flower that was growing without sunlight but she didn't understand him then. She doesn't understand him now. She left him, not in a rage, not in anger, but with a heart so heavy she wished the stars would all fall. But then...she came back, she always did. No apologies, no explanations, just her endless chatter, her endless story. She thought this was chapter two, a new beginning, a fresh start, but he had turned cold, he had stopped listening. He told her no and her story now has an end.

Yes, I know that there’s coin to be had; if you are a decent Archer or even a decent soldier. But the fact remains, it’s no good whatever being that good if you feet ‘urt so yer can’t walk the full day’s journey. Given the quality of the footwear these days, they ‘urt pretty often. It’s probably why the average soldier has bare feet for much of the time, or well-wrapped in cloth inside some sort of boot.

But the toff, ya’ know, well, they are wantin’ real goods. Expensive leather outer but hardly what you could call ‘a thick sole’. And fashionable - definitely fashionable. The first thing her Ladyship wants to know when himself’s come ‘ome from the war is not “art thou hurt?”, but “and what are they wearing over there, these days?”

And me? Well, I trained as a metal-worker and I got taught how to make cutting tools. Not wishing to stay too long in one place, the Master’s son having returned and I could see not a lot of time, space or coin for me, I made myself some really good cutters that were small enough and sharp enough, even to cut toenails.
Well, from then on I was well in, wan’t I’?
Turns out everyone wants their toes doing sometime. I won’t say I made a fortune, but I didn’t need too much charity, as it were.

He was not surprised that it happened. London was always a target. But still, when it did happen, he was surprised by how slowly it happened.

First there was the premonition. Something was going to happen. He didn’t know what. But something was going to happen. Why else would he have looked up from his newspaper at that particular moment? Why else would he have suddenly glanced towards the street?

Thinking about it later, he remembered the yellow van. He remembered it starting to reverse into a parking space. He remembered the pretty girl in the pink dress. He remembered her taking something from her bag – a cell phone, he thought.

And then he saw the light. Intensely bright. At first bluish-white. It reminded him of an old-fashioned photographer’s flash bulb. Then green. Then orange. He thought it was something happening in the street. But then, after a moment – it could not have been more than a moment – he realised that the light was behind him. He realised that he was seeing the light reflected in the plate glass of the hotel’s front window.

He felt the rush of hot air, like a high-speed train passing through a station. And after that he heard the sound: a brief, incredibly-loud metallic bang, followed by a long, low rumble, a bit like distant thunder. And then it all went quiet. Incredibly loud, and then incredibly quiet. As if someone somewhere had flicked a switch. Power on. Power off.

When he opened his eyes, he was still sitting in the high-backed club chair, but the chair was now where the window had been. In front of him, two cars appeared to have collided. Was that what the noise had been? A car crash? The girl in the pink dress was lying on top of one of the cars. The yellow van was on its side up against the building across the street. He could hear bells, sirens, car alarms, shouting – but it all seemed a very long way away. A woman was running down the street holding a small child in her arms. A waiter in a long white apron was just standing in the middle of the road. It was getting dark. His neck ached. His arm felt sun burned. And there was a smell of burning rubber and singed hair and fried food.

Concentrate, he told himself. Concentrate. What time is it? He glanced down to look at his watch. The left sleeve of his jacket was blackened. There were little wisps of smoke. Instinctively, he tried to pat the smouldering fabric with his other hand. He was surprised by how hot it felt.

‘Cover your face for a moment, mate.’ The voice was both near and far.

Someone in a hi-visibility jacket was spraying his chair with a fire extinguisher. A gloved hand reached out and hovered in front of his eyes. He felt something cold and wet on the back of his own hand. And then the hovering hand pulled away again.

Now someone was crouching beside the chair. ‘Are you OK? Can you move?’

Could he? He tried to turn in the chair. Yes, he could move. But his neck ached, and he had a dull pain that ran from his elbow all the way to his fingers. He tried to rub his neck, but his hand seemed to take forever to get there.

‘Have you got a sore neck?’ the near-far voice asked.

He tried to nod, but that wasn’t such good idea.

‘OK, just stay where you are,’ the voice said. ‘I’ll be right back.’

It seemed to be getting lighter again.

‘What’s your name?’ It was a different voice; a woman’s voice.

What was his name? He had to think for a moment. ‘Charlie,’ he said, tentatively. Yeah, that’s right: Charlie.

‘OK, Charlie,’ she said. ‘I’m Fiona. You’ve got a bit of a burn there, Charlie. We’ll put a dressing on that for you in a moment. D’you know what happened?’ she asked.

Did he know what had happened? ‘I was waiting,’ he said.

Yes, that’s right, he’d been waiting. For Harry. Harry had said three o’clock. Charlie had arrived early. Just after 2:30. ‘What time is it?’

The woman who had said that her name was Fiona looked at her watch. ‘Coming up three. Just waiting for Gary and we’ll get you out of here.’

‘Yes. Harry. I was waiting for Harry.’

Suddenly Charlie felt really tired.

‘Try and keep your eyes open, Charlie,’ someone said. ‘We’ll have you out of here in no time.’

And then Charlie was drifting down a river. He was reclining in some sort of rowboat. There were willows. The sun was shining. But then the riverbanks melted away, and he noticed that his feet were being held up by a young man in a hi-visibility jacket.

‘You’re back again, Charlie,’ the man said. ‘You left us for a moment there. I’m Gary. Let’s get you to the ambulance. Yeah?’

__________________‘Writing is the ultimate decision-making experience. Every paragraph, every sentence, every word, is a decision.’ – Michael Bremer